Ameliorate
by howlingmoonrise
Summary: Collection of drabbles/oneshots for SoMa NSFW Week 2014. Explicit drabbles will not be posted here according to the rules and guidelines, but they can be found both on AO3 and Tumblr. Enjoy!
1. Day One - Caught

_Schiiiik. Schiiiik_.

Soul stifled a desperate gasp with the back of his hand, doing his best not to bury his teeth deep enough to actually draw blood - that would get Maka's attention, if nothing else, and he really didn't want that to happen. Like, ever.

_Schiiiik._

Because Maka was the nosy kind of person that once had a question unanswered, would go to extreme lengths to find out what was being kept for her. Even if it was for her very own good, even if it was to not break her faith in him and have him labeled as Maka's definition of men - _dirty, lecherous bastards in who you couldn't trust_. Even if slowly that belief was being brought down by her relationships with him, Black*Star, Sid, Stein, Ox and so on, he really didn't want to deal with the thought of what she would do if she found out he was doing _this_. Even if breaking their partnership didn't happen immediately due to the two of them being far too used to each other to just go their separate ways, it would eventually come crumbling down through broken trust and dissonant wavelengths.

Needless to say, it made keeping quiet his highest priority at the moment.

_Schiiiik._

Or, you know, he could _not_ get turned on by these kinds of things like any normal person. Sadly, that option seemed to have "Out of Stock" in bold, shiny letters pointing at it.

_Schiiiiiiiiik!_

A particularly hard slide of the whetstone displayed on the laptop screen sent his mind into overdrive, making him grip his shaft even harder. He imagined her calloused, petite hands holding it instead, exploring curiously as her green eyes stared at him expectantly. The tentative exploring slowly turned into a careful grip, an slow up-and-down motion that nearly made him see stars, a muffled groan of his meister's name escaping his lips. He peeled his eyes open again, just in time to watch as more oil was dribbled onto the weapon on the screen - it looked nothing like his scythe form, but then again something like that wasn't exactly an easy thing to find.

_Schiiiik._

Red eyes half-lidded, Soul strained his hearing in the direction of the door, hearing nothing. Shame, that. Sometimes he was lucky enough to accidentally synchronize his Soul Time with Maka's showers. Sore as she usually was from training and missions alike, her showers were usually a feast for Soul's eager ears, full of sexy little noises that gave plenty of fuel to his imagination. Behind his eyelids appeared images of soapy suds sliding down lean curves, light hair sticking to glistening, wet skin, loofah tracing every contour of her body. It was nearly as good as his favourite, most shameful fantasy, of her covered in oil and sliding a whetstone across his blade, the grating sounds in synch with his moans of pleasure, or the one where her naked form rode his shaft roughly as her teeth bit into his neck.

His fingers lightly played with the tip of his dick, coating themselves with more of his fluid. Soul knew his body well enough to know that he was close, the allusive images on the screen in front of him and the thrill of flying with Maka earlier only making him more eager to finish. His hand reached the base of his shaft, mimicking his meister's grip on his scythe form by grasping it roughly and slowly sliding up. He repeated the movement, closing his eyes at the feeling as he amplified the speed franticly, pumping as thought his life was on the line.

"_M-Maka!_"

His seed spurted out in hot, white gushes that he knew all too well even with closed eyes. Soul rested back on the bed, allowing his fingers to relax one by one as his cock softened, letting out a long breath.

"Did you seriously just masturbate to a show on weapon maintenance?"

Aaaaaaand there it was. Maka's voice, Maka's presence in his room at a time when she _definitely shouldn't be there_, his partership with Maka crumbling to ashes in front of his naked body and cum-stained sheets. Soul cheerfully condemned himself to die a thousand of painful, horrid deaths for destroying the most important relationship in his life. He could hear the smirk in her voice when she spoke her last words before leaving the room.

"At least next time let me join in, dumbass."


	2. Day Two - Birthday

I kept accidentally shifting to second person/present tense (because dude, wayyyy too much Homestuck) so I might have some of it left in there. Also, I'm considering it incomplete because I wanted to keep writing only I don't have the time right now, so in the (maybe) near future I might finish it with all the NSFW bits on Tumblr and AO3.

Enjoy!

* * *

Soul "Eater" Evans wearily eyed the giant cake standing in its frosty goodness in the exact middle of his living room, "Happy Birthday!" banners stretching from wall to wall. Warily giving a quick lap around the house to make sure that no, this wasn't some kind of scheme from his parents to make him go back and that no, all five of his friends weren't there to throw him a surprise birthday party (he really, really hated those things), his hand dove into his jeans' pocket, dialing a number he knew all too well.

"Wes, what the fuck?"

"Hey, little brother," Soul could practically hear the shit-eating grin on his brother's voice. "Enjoying your gift?"

Soul took a deep, long-suffering breath before attempting to answer, "First of all, how the fuck did you even get in my apartment? No, wait. Scratch that. How did you even know where I was?"

"I have my ways," Wes replied in a tone that was _way_ too ambiguous for Soul to feel safe. "Either way, I couldn't just let my little brother's birthday go by without doing something to celebrate, now could I?"

"Yes, you could," Soul deadpanned. "Everyone does, because they actually listen when I say I don't want to celebrate it."

"Mm-hm," his brother said, sounding skeptical. "More like you didn't even tell anyone. Well, enjoy your gift." The shit-eating grin was back, Soul could feel it. "No need to thank me!"

"I wasn't going to, you ass," Soul snarled a second too late as Wes ended the call. Feeling defeated but also conscious enough of his own lack of money to let a good cake go to waste, he approached the cake in slow, languid steps to take the first taste of what would doubtlessly be delicious frosting.

_Bam!_

"Holy shit," Soul said, because there was absolutely _no way in hell_ this was happening.

"Happy Birthday!"

_Are you fucking kidding me_, was the first thought that crossed Soul's mind as the top of the cake exploded. _Wow, hot_, was the second one as the babe dressed in a very short, very sexy red dress proceeded to lean over and give him the hottest, most sensual open-mouthed kiss he had ever received. The third was something along the lines of _dude, what a waste of cake_, but the thought was quickly dispelled as a pink, tiny tongue slid provocatively against his.

It was only around the time that he slid his hands in silky ash-blonde hair that he realized that _a person had just come out of his birthday cake, he was going to kill Wes._

Also, wow, what the hell, Soul didn't think he had ever gotten this hard this fast.

He gathered enough wits to brace his hands on the girl's shoulders and push her back - admittedly, he may or may not have taken a little longer than necessary because it wasn't every day he was kissed like that - and took a deep breath, noting how the air now had a smoky scent that faintly reminded him of vanilla. He stared into half-lidded green eyes, darkly outlined in a way that made it impossible for him to look away.

"What's the problem?" she asked huskily, lips parted invitingly. He wondered if it was bad that he wanted to kiss her again, hear that voice gasp out his name as he bit her neck or traced the edges of her underwear with his tongue.

Fucking Eiffel Tower would be proud of the tent in his pants.

"I- I don't know you," he managed to stutter out. "I don't even know your name."

Her smile was slow, sultry, red lips curling in a way he'd never been quite able to resist. "My name is Maka," she said, and he held back a moan at the way she caressed the skin of his collarbones. "And yours is Soul."

"Y-Yeah," Soul gasped out, completely unable to not react like an awkward teenager. "I am. I mean, it is."

"See?" she purred, and holy fuck his pants were way too tight for this. "We know each other well enough, after all."

"R-Right," Soul said, because he was a stupid fucking dumbass who never knew how to act in front of someone he's attracted to. She steps down from the remains of the cake, long legs drawing his attention for longer than politeness allowed. Though Soul really wasn't sure if such rules applied when it came to the kind of vixen that came out of cakes and kissed him in a way that left his wet dreams feeling strangely insufficient. "Still, I don't think it's right to take advantage of you-"

She laughed then, a throaty chuckle that made him feel inadequate. "No one's taking advantage of me," she grinned. "If you have any doubts just look at the bill for your little private party - VIP treatment doesn't come cheap, you know. Plus, my terms state that I can leave if you try to force me into anything I don't want to do." Maka eyed him appreciatively, making Soul all too aware of the raging boner that she had undoubtedly noticed. "But I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon. I don't give refunds, so don't let all that money go to waste, yes?"

Soul tried not to think of the hundreds of dollars that Wes doubtlessly had spent on this and which would have done a _much_ better job if he had paid his apartment's rent instead for a few more months, but then Maka was kissing him again and all he could think of was how good she felt against him.

Her tongue traced his lips, his tongue, sucking the tip slightly into her mouth, only for a moan to escape from her mouth into his when he lightly nipped her lower lip. He was so used to his pointy, far too sharp teeth being a turn off to most people that when she gasped and pulled at his hair his only thought was to apologize.

"Ah, s-sorry-"

"Shut up and do that again," Maka ordered breathily, raking her nails down his clothed chest. "And this comes off," she added as an afterthought, lifting the shirt so he could pull it off. She admiringly took in the sight, leaning down to trace a warm, wet path down his tanned skin with her mouth, tongue dipping softly into his scar.

Soul groaned, burying his hands in her hair as hers palmed the borderline painful erection he was sporting. Her mouth returned to his neck, lightly biting at the skin there, inhaling the subtle, salty scent of it. Then, a rougher nip that made him grasp her hips desperately, barely resisting the urge to buck against her. She promptly took care of that issue - if it could even be called that -, tangling their legs together so that his denim-clad leg rubbed up against her wet core, one of her hands deftly undoing the fly of his jeans. He gasped something out, probably nothing coherent, but her only response was that sly smirk that he now knew meant good things to him.

"Don't worry, pretty boy," she murmured against his lips. "I'll take good care of you."

Personally, he was a bit more worried that he'd embarrass himself with his reaction to the things her hands were doing at the moment.

Slowly, so subtly that he didn't even realize what she was doing at first, she pushed him back towards the single couch, straddling him once he was properly settled and gifting him with another of her deep, sensuous kisses that sent his mind reeling. Her core ground against his erection, making Soul throw his head back in an attempt to keep him from ripping her dress apart and drive himself home.

She let out another of those steamy laughs, teeth once again finding his neck, feeling the movement of his throat as he harshly swallowed. He nudged his hips a little frantically against hers, feeling her warm center and wanting to get as close to it as possibly, hands travelling along her curves in reverential ardor. She pulled them away, guiding them to the velvety hem of her dress, drawing them up and over her head as the dress slipped out, revealing small breasts with perfect pink nipples standing at attention.

As Maka's hips gyrated against his with a heady rhythm, Soul's last conscious thought was _Wes got his money's worth_.

And as he woke up the next day to find a little card with a number and a _Call me!_ scribbled in curly script beneath it, he couldn't help but think he would have to thank his brother after all.


	3. Day Four - Lick

University sucks, so I ended up missing a lot of days/prompts, but I'm working on filling them quickly before the week 'officially' ends, though some may only be finished tomorrow. Also, expect some two-in-one deals - better late than never, says I.

Technically, this one is for the Day Four prompt, but I'm posting them as they get finished.

Enjoy!

* * *

Maka finds herself thinking about her weapon's mouth a lot.

It is to be expected, she supposes, considering how much he uses it on a daily basis, snarking and eating both food and corrupted souls nearly as much as he breathes. He used to drool a lot, she remembers, though now his definition of 'coolness' has evolved enough that it doesn't include large quantities of drool anymore.

He'll lick his lips languidly when he's hungry and something particularly delicious-looking is placed in front of him; Maka likes to think she sometimes sees him doing it when she wears one of her shorter skirts, but until very recently she hadn't dared to confirm it. His tongue is long and dexterous; he curls it around the spoon whenever he eats ice-cream, sucking out all the vestiges of the creamy concoction. She likes watching him eat, especially when it comes to the souls of the damned and he stretches his tongue all the way out, coiling a bit at the tip before his mouth opens and devours it whole.

She likes his teeth very much, as well. They're sharp, white, and pointy, and the first time they'd met she'd stared at them curiously as he acted self-conscious about it, wondering how they'd feel against her skin.

She wonders that a lot, now, though in ways far less innocent than back then.

So when she asks if he'd ever performed cunnilingus, it's completely spontaneous. He's eating strawberries, the red juices staining his fingers and his lips, and the question was out before she could stop her traitorous mind from voicing her thoughts. He looks at her questioningly for a moment, strawberry halfway to his mouth.

"You mean oral?" he asks, mouth semi-open in wonder at her flushed face, and Maka is quite sure that her cheeks can rival the color of the fruit he is devouring. There is a beat of silence in which Maka wants to slide out of her chair and curl on the floor in embarrassment, but then the corners of Soul's mouth curl into a grin, wide and wicked. "Well, I do _love_ taking sweet things apart with my mouth."

She's still gaping and frozen in place when he finishes the fruit and puts the empty bowl in the sink, walking away with a far too smug gait to his pace.

She can't stop thinking about it, and it's driving her nuts.

Soul has been tormenting her in a variety of sweet, terrible ways that leave her imagining far too much and physically enjoying it far too little. She is pretty sure Soul can hear her unwinding from his actions during her showers, the moans her hands provoke mingling with the ones caused by the everyday soreness of her muscles. Maka is too far gone to care, however, because Soul seems to know just how much it bothers her in an infinity of good ways when he walks around in just his jeans, skin glistening and hair dripping from the shower as he joins her on the couch, or when he leans far too close into her, warm chest pressing fully against her back. She is absolutely sure they did all those things before and that it didn't bother her back then, but now things have taken a turn - for the better or the worse, it's still too soon to tell - and she is far too conscious of his presence around her to not be bothered by it.

He grins at her, wide and unabashed, whenever her eyes linger a little too long or when she fails to scold him for his messy eating because she is too busy watching his tongue dart out to catch stray drops of sauce. He'll be the death of her one of these days, if a Kishin doesn't get to her before the sexual tension consumes her.

He's taken to sliding his arm around her whenever possible, leaving her to be conflicted in whether to snuggle against him, stay absolutely still, or bite his neck just beside his Adam's apple, where the skin is thin and tempting. While the last option is quickly discarded before she can do anything stupid like _ruin their partnership_, she settles in a mix of the first two as she imagines him biting her instead, lavishing her skin with his tongue and suckling at the sweeter spots as she pulls him further towards her.

It's driving her nuts and_ she doesn't know what to do._

She retaliates, then. Bends over and stretches a lot, wears her favourite shorter skirts, leans across him to reach the remote, anything and everything she can think of to make him react, to know what he is thinking, if he's going as crazy as she is with all the playing around that they're doing.

One night then, they snap. He's licking frosting from his fingers, leftovers from the icing of a cake she decided to bake at three in the morning after a particularly exhausting mission, and before she realizes it her fingers are in his mouth, the sharp tips of his teeth brushing against her skin as he sucks them further inside, tongue swirling around them to catch every stray bit of white fluff in them. His eyes are fixed in hers, their red intensity making her knees feel like they could buckle at any instant, and then she's gone.

Maka grabs at his hair, taking her fingers out of his mouth to trace them around his lips, down his jaw, his neck, to the top of his shirt. His lips part as she slants her mouth against his with all the technique of someone whose only romantic experiences come from second-hand tellings and trashy novels, and then he is pressing her back against the cabinet before a full second has even passed.

She finds herself keening when his head gets pushed down to her neck, teeth mouthing at her skin in gentle nips, and she pulls at the white strands in the back of his head to try and make him bite harder. Everything's blurred for a while, a mixture of sensations and wet heat making her mind go blank, and then something touches her folds through her panties, and her eyes snap open.

Her mind freezes, the image of Soul on his knees before her burning into her mind, his head beneath her skirt as her folds are slowly caressed by either his fingers or his tongue. And _oh my_, she never wants him to stop. He's tracing the outlines of her pussy, dipping into the contours in a light, teasing way that contrasts with the way he kissed her earlier, all rushed and heady and passionate. Not to say that he isn't passionate now, but it's a different kind of passion - provocative and slow-burning, the kind that she knows that will have him pleasuring her all night long if she lets him.

Then she discovers that it was definitely his fingers before, because then his tongue joins in and her knees actually buckle.

She barely manages to catch herself, hands clinging tightly to the back of the table as his breathy chuckle sends new sensations cruising on her wet center, and then his tongue slides across its length and it wracks a wail out of her.

He stops for a second, unsure if that was the oh-Soul-fuck-me-hard kind of wail or the I'm-going-to-kill-you-for-eating-me-out kind, but from her frantic gasps and lack of Maka Chops, he deduces - correctly - that it's safe to continue.

Maka feels far too sensitive for so little touching, but then again it's Soul who is doing this to her and he knows her better than anyone else could ever hope to. He probably knows all her turn-ons and what makes her moan and gasp and he could potentially make her come without even touching her, and she knows she's not making nearly any sense but _Soul is eating her out_ and she doesn't know of a single thing in existence that could possibly compare to that.

He kisses her down there much like he'd kissed her lips, open-mouthed and suckling at her folds in ways that make colours burst behind her eyelids. Then her soaking underwear is sliding down her hips, fresh air skittering against her wet pussy before his tongue is in her again, sliding the tip in and curling it against her sweet spot as she cries out in pleasure. She wants to wrap her thighs around his head and keep him there forever, but just holding herself up is a harder task than she would have thought some time ago. She wants to slide her hands into his hair and pull him into a kiss, to explore his body and trace his scar with her tongue, to cuddle with him in one of their beds as they exchange slow, gentle kisses.

"Sweet things, huh?" she breathes out, and Soul takes a moment to slide his head out from under her skirt and offer her a heady grin. The area around his mouth is glistening with her juices, and Soul takes a deep pleasure in licking them off.

"Sweet things, indeed," he says, and then proceeds to remain true to his words for the rest of the night.


	4. Day Five & Seven - Smooth & Underwear

I don't know what happened but this one sucks really bad x(

Hopefully the next one will be better - though the week is already over I'll fill the last two prompts before considering this finished. And even so I'll probably do some major rewriting on this one, because just... Ughhhhhh.

* * *

Soul is pretty sure that what is coursing through his mind at the moment goes completely against the 'How to Be a Good Weapon and Not Crush on Your Meister' handbook, imaginary as it may be. In fact, he is pretty in need of such a handbook, because his meister's legs are wrapped around his body and he has a spectacular, unrestricted view to her lacy boyshorts.

Closing his eyes is very much ineffective, considering that he is in his weapon form, and all his concentration is going towards making sure the link between his and Maka doesn't broadcast the fact that if he had a corporeal penis at the moment, it would be hard and pressing up against her.

Her thighs are smooth and warm against his sides, clenched together in order to maintain her balance when her hands are busy retying her pigtails, messed up from their previous fight. He enjoys flying with her, though they've only just managed to do it half-decently, their progress slightly halted by the weird-ass cutesy wings Maka had insisted on at the start. His meister is so weird sometimes.

Also, what is it with her and her new fixation on angel-themed stuff? Soul can appreciate that she has a pretty cool soul, especially since he resonates with it on a daily basis, but the wings and the nickname are a bit too much, that idiot. He can't picture her as an angel even if he tried, the image quickly being overtaken by one in her old uniform, a mad grin and blood in her hands. He finds it easier to imagine her as a female, smaller version of Shinigami-sama, giant square hands and all.

An angel, pffft. Soul had started to think he finally understood his meister well enough, but then she goes and does stuff like that.

He likes her better as she is right now, a sweaty mess after a battle, easy smile in her face even as filth covers her from head to toe, new uniform severely in need of a washing even after being used for only a few hours. Her breathing is heavy but he can feel her relaxed wavelength as they soar together, cutting easily through the air. Her thighs shift against him again, bringing his thoughts back to the erection that would have been successfully restrained if he hadn't been so sensitive to her smooth skin, even in his metallic form. Soul contains the urge to sigh.

He thinks it's because it's Maka, and Maka has always been the kind of person that elicits all sorts of elevated responses from him that nobody else does, from utter annoyance to unbearable lust. She's Maka, and without doubt the most important person in the world to him; he'd die for her without hesitation because the idea of a world without his meister sounded like the description of hell.

There's an affectionate buzz at the back of his mind, and his non-corporeal cheeks burn as he realizes that she is unintentionally receiving his feelings of devotion to her, and as such those quickly turn into embarrassment at the realization. Her laugh is airy and carefree, and her hands, rid of the gloves she wears all the time, caress his shaft warmly in appreciation. He is torn between huffing because she is treating him way too much like her favourite pet horse, and groaning because _holy fuck her bare hands feel divine_. Soul knows she only wears them because when she doesn't her hands get all the sorts of painful calluses and bloody blisters when they're battling, something she apparently had figured out quite early in her training. He has helped her patch up often enough to know the excellent care she takes when treating her hands, using lotions and moisturizers among other things, because hands are very important things to meisters – not to mention that she loves when her hands are all soft and hydrated, that dork.

The metal of the weapon thrums lightly as he hums in contentedness at her touch, relishing in it – fuck getting offended, he knows her too well to think that she would ever think of him as a tool or an animal – but then Maka gasps. He is immediately alert, frantically scanning their surroundings before realizing that there is no trace of _Enemy Alert!_ coming from his meister's soul, and then proceeds to be confused.

"What the hell, Maka?" he says, before realizing that mortification is now radiating from her in thunderous waves. She is blushing much like he was not long ago, only Maka's skin is pale enough that her whole face flushes like she caught one of those deadly sunburns that leave you aching for weeks. There is a faint throbbing in her soul, not painful or negative, just red and bright and_ there_, and Soul isn't quite sure about what it means until her thighs shift again and he realizes that her panties are wet.

_Oh._

Soul figures he has two options.

One: they can pretend it never happened and go on with their lives, him with more Alone Time material than before and possibly a Maka Chop.

Two: he can figure out whatever he did to make her react that way and do it again.

He takes a bit too long to decide, though, because Maka directs them towards the nearest rooftop and starts descending towards it. Soul panics, absolutely sure that if he doesn't do anything now he'll be too chicken to try later, so before he knows it his weapon form is vibrating. Fucking _vibrating_. Sometimes he wonders about Death's sick sense of humor, because of course a fucking weapon should have a function that allows them to double as a fucking vibrator. Never mind that his human form doesn't do anything of the sort, but somehow when he transforms suddenly he's some sort of sick hybrid between a scythe and a sex toy.

Maka nearly topples over and falls down to become a stain in the streets below with the texture of strawberry jam, but the grip her thighs have on him is so strong that he thinks she couldn't have let go even if she wanted to. She yelps, her hands gripping him tight, and the sudden burst of arousal in her soul nearly makes him revert to human form, and then there would be _two_ strawberry jam stains in the cobbled streets.  
Her speech is a mixture of garbled screeches, shouts of his name, and an incoherent jumble of "fuckfuckfuckFUCK" and "SHIT!" that are a lot less confusing when he focuses on her panicked soul, wary and pounding loudly after her near-fall but also void of any negative feeling towards his actions. His heart is drumming in his chest, though he isn't sure if it's because of her scare and the propagations of it through their resonance or because even through her shrieks he can actually feel her grinding slightly against him.

He doesn't know how he did it, but apparently today is Soul Unlocks Sexy Times With Weapon Form day, because as he tries to repeat the vibration thing his shaft starts undulating instead. _Undulating_. Like he isn't demon steel, hard enough to cut through bones and cement and whatever else his meister decided to use his on next. He decides, then and there, that when they get home he's going to look up weapon porn, because he finds it nearly impossible that someone hadn't discovered all these interesting new properties before.

Maka lets out a muffled moan, and he can see her biting her lip nearly as well as he can see the growing wetness at the center of her boyshorts. He wishes he could use his tongue, trace her folds with it, taste that part of her that no one else had. Eating Maka out is one of his greatest fantasies, the one that jumps to the front of his mind whenever his eyes catch sight of her skirt and long legs, when she swings him in scythe form and pulls him back behind her enough that he can tell exactly which panties she's wearing at the moment.

For once, he lets all those thoughts flood the link between the two of them, and Maka gasps loudly and rubs herself against him.

He moans, loud and wantonly enough that it would make him embarrassed in a normal situation, and both of them concentrate their efforts in making as much contact with her folds as they can considering their altitude and the non-human form he currently has. Her wetness makes her sliding against him far too easy, providing nearly no friction, and in face of that obstacle Soul shapes the steel of his shaft so that it provides bumps and ridges for her to enjoy. She does. She appreciates it terribly and he knows just how much through her breathy gasps and moans, and Soul enjoys it in return as the sensation of her hands in his shaft make his eyes roll back in his head. The soul resonance is feeding the sensations between them, amplifying it to the maximum, and Soul distantly wonders what would happen to his cum if he came while in weapon form.

Well, his meister is the curious type. He figures he'll find out soon enough.

And by the way her hips are gyrating against him, it shouldn't take too long.


End file.
